


All I Ask of You is Love

by mitslits



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Mostly Fluff, Phantom Harry, Phantom of the Opera AU, cause Dean's a dick, hair and makeup artist Eggsy, long-suffering roxy (who is also Christine), stage manager Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7645885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starring Harry Hart as the Phantom of the Opera, Roxanne Morton as Christine Daaé, and Eggsy Unwin as the hopelessly-in-love, desperate-to-please hair and makeup artist who just can't seem to get anything right. Sometimes what goes on behind the scenes is more interesting than the performance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Ask of You is Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heyitslee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitslee/gifts).



> As soon as I saw this prompt I knew it was the one I wanted to do, despite never having seen a live version of Phantom of the Opera. (I watched the Shcumacher film for info. Best research ever.) I really hope you enjoy this heap of fluff, cliches, and disfigured men. 
> 
> A huge thanks to krissielee for betaing! This wouldn't be half as comprehensive without her. :) 
> 
> I owe all my knowledge of Phantom of the Opera to Joel Shcumacher and Andrew Lloyd Webber; none of the characters or the song titles/lyrics are my own.

Eggsy freezes with his arms outstretched, reaching for his brush box on the counter. “You’re jokin’,” he finally manages to say, blinking owlishly at Roxy. “He ain’t.” 

“I’m not joking,” she says delightedly, shaking her head. “Apparently he and Merlin are old friends and he actually  _ offered _ when he heard he was putting on the production.” 

For a second Eggsy still can’t do anything other than stare at his friend. She looks elated, and why shouldn’t she, he thinks. It’s not every day you get cast to play the lead in a production of  _ The Phantom of the Opera _ and it’s even rarer to star alongside Harry Hart, especially lately.  

They all know who he is; it’s nearly impossible not to, even for non-theatre goers. Even the general population tends to hear about singers requested by the Queen herself. He’d left a flourishing stage career to become her personal performer. This would be his first time back in the public sphere in a decade. And he was coming to _Eggsy’s_ _theatre_. 

Well, technically it was Merlin’s theatre, but now was not the time for technicalities, in his opinion. Now was the time for celebration. 

Roxy hesitates, smile dropping at Eggsy’s prolonged stillness. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asks hesitantly. 

Letting out a breath he doesn’t even realize he’s been holding, a grin splits Eggsy’s face. “This is fuckin’ aces,” he breathes. 

Roxy nods enthusiastically before giving in to her excitement. She launches herself at Eggsy, wrapping her arms around him and giggling like mad. When his arms circle around her, she buries her face in his shoulder. 

“You know what this means, right?” Eggsy asks a moment later, mischief glittering in his eyes. He waits until she looks up at him before he continues. “You’re gonna have to kiss an old man.” 

Rolling her eyes skyward, she pulls away from him and swats him on the shoulder, only a bit harder than necessary. “That sounds like jealousy.” She doesn’t give him a chance to object before lacing their fingers together and tugging him towards the doorway. 

“Where are we goin’?” Eggsy asks, following along behind anyway. The mess that is his supply closet can wait till tomorrow. 

“Drinks. Merlin might even show up.” Roxy tosses the explanation over her shoulder, swinging the door open and holding it for Eggsy to pass through. Once it swings shut she flashes him another grin. “We have a lot to celebrate.” 

-

This is the first time Eggsy has ever seen Merlin as anything less than 100% sober and he’s loving it. The Scot is regaling them with tale after tale about Harry in his younger years. Apparently the man has mellowed quite a bit in his older age. With every story about his drunken antics back at boarding school, Eggsy grows more and more excited to meet him. 

All this time he’d sort of pictured him as some stuffed-up posh prick, but surely anyone who’d once purchased 1,000 rubber ducks whilst thoroughly pissed and then released them into the Thames couldn’t be  _ that _ stuffy. Still, with the eagerness comes an edge of nervousness. There’s no doubt that Harry will get the part of the Phantom and that means he and Eggsy are going to get very well acquainted. 

What if Eggsy isn’t good enough for him? The man has been hanging out with the Queen for God’s sake; he’s got to be used to quality. Eggsy is good, sure, but not  _ that _ good. 

As they’re leaving the pub that night he catches Roxy’s arm, gnawing at his bottom lip. “Can I ask you somethin’?” 

Sensing his unusually gloomy mood, she levels a serious look at him, nodding intently. 

“Can I … well, could I maybe use you as practice?” he asks hesitantly, releasing her. 

“Practice,” Roxy repeats, confusion clear in her voice. 

Eggsy nods. “I’ve just never done Phantom makeup before, is all,” he rushes to explain. “And I don’t want my first time to be on Harry. What if I fuck it up and he doesn’t think I’m- it’s good enough?” 

Roxy scoffs but when Eggsy’s nervous look doesn’t clear up, her brow furrows. “Wait. You’re serious?” He just blinks and her look turns skeptical. “Eggsy. You’re good at what you do, all right? He’s not going to ask Merlin to fire you.” Only silence meets her declaration and she heaves a sigh, hanging her head. “Fine,” she finally acquiesces. “You can use me as practice.” 

Eggsy’s smile almost makes it worth it. 

-

“I look hideous,” Roxy says, grimacing at her own reflection. “Or at least half of me does.” She pokes curiously at a patch on her cheek that looks like it’s been scorched away. 

Eggsy rummages around for his phone, fully intent on getting a picture so he has a chance of replicating the results. “Hideous enough to hide yourself away from society for your whole life?” he mutters absently, shoving brushes and makeup aside. He spots the corner of his phone poking out underneath some red foundation. He tugs it out and scrubs makeup off the camera lens. 

Roxy studies herself critically. “Well,” she says, “maybe not my  _ whole _ life.” Eggsy glares over at her and she smiles reassuringly. “Joking. Honestly I don’t even want to look at myself anymore.” She sets the mirror down, resisting the urge to scratch a makeup-caked itch. 

Eggsy gets the lens cleaned up enough to get a clear shot, sliding Roxy a box of tissues when he’s gotten all the angles. 

She’s just begun the rather laborious process of clearing off her face when her own phone vibrates. “Mind getting that?” 

“Holy shit,” Eggsy says a second later and she looks up quickly. 

“What is it?” she asks, momentarily forgetting the smeared mess all over her face. 

Eyes glowing with excitement, Eggsy meets her gaze. “He’s there. He’s at the theatre. And,” he pauses, waggling his eyebrows, “he wants to meet you.” 

Instantly Roxy is out of the chair, hurrying over to see the text with her own eyes. 

Eggsy relinquishes the phone, stomach twisting into knots. Makeup he knows he can handle. Just being himself is a whole other area. “You should go,” he says, plucking up her abandoned tissue wipe and offering it out to her.   

Roxy accepts it, scrubbing vigorously at her face. “You’re coming with me,” she says, tone brooking no argument. 

A bit taken aback, Eggsy blinks emptily at her. “I … I am?” he asks, bewildered. 

Roxy glares at him over the edge of the tissue as she rubs underneath her eye. “You are. And he is going to be polite, and charming, and convince you that you have nothing to worry about.” So saying, she tosses the tissue into the wastebin and folds her arms over her chest as if daring him to argue. 

He doesn’t, just starts packing up his supplies and mentally rehearsing a thousand ways to say hello. 

-

He doesn’t manage to get out a single one of them. The second he sees Harry he loudly blurts, “You’re him, you’re Harry, Roxy look! It’s  _ Harry Hart _ and he’s right here, right in front of us and I’m shuttin’ up now.” 

Eggsy retreats with flaming cheeks as Roxy greets Merlin, who’s watching the proceedings curiously, and then turns to Harry. 

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Hart,” she says with a charming smile. “My friend Eggsy and I are both big fans of yours.” At his questioning look, she glances back to where Eggsy is still standing, cheeks stained pink. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Morton,” Harry says warmly. “Merlin has told me a lot about you, and I must say I look forward to working with you.” 

Eggsy feels his heartbeat stutter as Harry approaches him, has to force himself to look up. He can’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes, but he does manage to shake his hand. 

“And I’ve also heard about you,” Harry says. “Eggsy, isn’t it?” At his mute nod, Harry continues. “I look forward to getting acquainted with you as well.” 

Eggsy doesn’t really relax again until Merlin is guiding Harry off for a tour of the theatre. He lets out a shuddering breath and buries his face in his hands. His groan comes out muffled. 

Suppressing a grin, Roxy slips her arm around his shoulders. “Come on now, you weren’t  _ that  _ bad,” she reassures him. 

He cracks open his fingers to glare at her. 

-

The next few weeks he spends mostly avoiding Harry. It’s not that difficult to do; each new cast member throws themselves at him at one point or another and he often goes off on his own anyway, to learn his lines. 

Roxy proves herself the most tolerable cast member to work with. 

A woman calling herself Gazelle takes on the role of Colette and is just as arrogant and imperious as her fictional counterpart. 

Charlie, a wanker Eggsy knows from his brief stint in an acting class, finds himself as Raoul. 

Eggsy teases Roxy mercilessly about how  _ Charlie’s _ the love of her life. She socks him in the arm. 

-

Their first rehearsal goes about as well as can be expected. A few dropped lines here and there, a couple scenes gone awry, but overall Merlin is satisfied with the results. 

Eggsy watches from backstage, mouthing along passionately to the songs he likes and putting on exaggerated performances for the rest of the backstage crew for the ones he doesn’t. 

Except, that is, when Harry sings. He listens in rapt silence to every verse, hardly able to believe he gets to hear him in person. He can’t quite figure out how Roxy manages to keep up with him, but she does, brilliantly too. 

Charlie, on the other hand, doesn’t stand a chance. It’s frankly a little unbelievable that he bests Harry at all, actually, but acting is acting. 

It’s inevitable that Eggsy eventually has to face Harry. The night of their final rehearsal, Harry invites the main cast out for drinks. He readily accepts when Roxy asks if she can bring Eggsy along. 

“What the hell did you ask him that for?” Eggsy asks, nerves immediately making him clumsy. He nearly knocks a full box of makeup to the ground, just managing to rescue it before it takes a nosedive. 

Roxy tugs him away from the table before he can almost cause another disaster. “For one, I like your company and I haven’t had much of it lately. For two, next week is opening night and you’ve barely said two words to Harry. You do realize it took you nearly an hour to do up my face, don’t you?” 

Eggsy shrugs one shoulder, playing dumb. “So?” he mumbles mutinously. 

“ _ So _ , it’s going to be one awkward hour if you can’t even talk to him,” Roxy huffs. “Now come on. We’re going to be late.”  

-

Alcohol, as it turns out, does not make it any easier to talk to Harry. He still can’t pluck up the courage to speak to him and, besides, he’s talking to Gazelle and Charlie. Then, a moment when he’s unoccupied, getting up to fetch another round. Gazelle and Charlie fall to talking to each other and Roxy elbows Eggsy in the ribs, angling her head towards Harry. 

Reluctantly, he slides out of the booth, following along behind him. Harry turns back from the counter attempting to balance five glasses in his hand. Quickly, Eggsy moves to take two of them from him, heart lurching at the smile Harry gives him. 

“Thank you, Eggsy,” he says, giving him a slight nod. 

It takes a second to register that he needs to respond and his, “No problem, bruv,” is a bit loud, turning a few heads. He winces, too, at the epithet. 

Harry doesn’t comment on it, just steers them back towards the booth. 

That, however, is as far as he gets. As soon as they sit down again, Gazelle drags him into some debate over chord progressions or something else Eggsy is totally clueless about. Roxy shoots him a sympathetic look, but all he does is shrug one shoulder. 

Does he regret not taking the time to get to know Harry better when opening night rolls around? Hell yes he does. 

Harry’s sitting in the chair waiting to become the Phantom and Eggsy can’t psyche himself up enough to go out there and just  _ do it already _ . But showtime draws ever nearer and eventually he emerges from the small closet allotted to him, brushes in hand. 

“Sorry about the delay,” he says sheepishly, pointedly not looking at Harry. “Couldn’t find … somethin’.” He cringes at his own lame excuse but Harry doesn’t bat an eye, the bastard. 

Instead he smiles warmly at him and Eggsy swears his heart stops for a second. “That’s quite alright,” Harry assures him. “There’s still time.” 

Eggsy bends over his paints, trying to remember exactly how he’d done Roxy up. Eventually he gets everything he’ll need and turns to Harry. He lets out a long, slow breath, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Harry’s chin, hold him still as he works. 

For a little while it’s easy to lose himself in his craft. He’s concentrating so hard that the reality of his situation fades away. At least it does until Harry opens his mouth. 

“So. If you don’t mind my asking,” he begins, “how long have you been doing this?” He gestures vaguely towards his face. 

That shatters the sort-of trance Eggsy had been in and he suddenly realizes he’s been staring almost directly into Harry’s eyes for the past couple of minutes as he applies a layer of latex. “Uh… seven years.” 

One of Harry’s eyebrows ticks upwards. “And what got you interested?” 

Eggsy stiffens. The question is only innocent small talk; Harry has no way of knowing its significance. He’d spent so long covering up scrapes and bruises, both on himself and his mum, that he’d eventually gotten into the rest of it as well. But those days are long behind him and he brushes those thoughts away, trying to come up with an answer that will actually be acceptable to tell a near total stranger. 

Too late, it seems. Harry has clearly noticed his hesitation and he waves the question away nonchalantly. “Never mind that, then.” There’s a strain in his voice that wasn’t there before and he falls quiet after that, hesitant to bring up another potentially troublesome topic. 

Eggsy longs to fill the resulting silence but he can’t think of anything to say that won’t make Harry feel like a twat. So he doesn’t say anything. It’s the longest half hour of his life, but he manages to get Harry all done up. He spends nearly a full minute studying his handiwork before he can bring himself to turn Harry towards the mirror. 

Anxiety roils through Eggsy as Harry blinks at his reflection. It only intensifies when seconds crawl by without any sign of a reaction. And, when it does come, it’s not exactly the one he was hoping for. 

Harry shifts uncomfortably in the chair, practically grimacing as he half-turns away from the mirror. “It’s … well, I suppose ‘nice’ isn’t really the appropriate word, is it?” He gives a nervous sort of chuckle before standing, refusing to look at the mirror again. “Best go get ready, then. I’ll see you later.” 

With that, he’s gone. Eggsy drops his head into his hands and groans. 

-

“He hated it, Rox,” Eggsy mumbles, voice slightly muffled by her shoulder. He’s planted his face in it and, if the world is kind, he’ll never have to take it out again. “You should’ve seen the look on his face.” 

She runs a hand soothingly over his back. “Well, he’ll just have to get used to it, then. The job you did for me was the best I’ve ever seen.” Her tone is firm, not a trace of doubt to be found. 

Eggsy finally does peel his face away from her shoulder, a small smile pasted on his face. “Thanks.” It dissolves soon after, though, and he flops dramatically back onto the sofa cushions. “But this is Harry Hart. He sang for the bloody Queen. He must’ve met so many people who are better at this sort of thing than I am.” Sighing, he drags an arm over his face, covering his eyes. 

Roxy rolls her own skyward. It’s going to be a long run. 

-

Eggsy had thought it was difficult to come out and face Harry before. Now, remembering the look he’d had last time, it’s even harder. Still, there’s nothing for it. The Phantom can’t very well go on stage looking like a normal person. So Eggsy gathers his nerve and seats himself in front of him, determined not to dwell on the end result. 

Like the previous night, they sit in silence for a while, Eggsy’s complete focus on what he’s doing. But it really is hellishly awkward to stare intently right into Harry’s eyes without saying anything. 

Eventually he breaks the silence with an overeager, “What’s it like?” 

Harry blinks, looking slightly taken aback. “What is what like?” he asks, recomposing himself. 

“Singin’ for the Queen,” Eggsy clarifies, sweeping a swath of red around his eye. He pulls back to study it, frowns a little, wipes his hand across his forehead, leaving a red smudge in its wake. 

Harry presses his lips together to keep from smiling. “Not as glamorous as you’d probably expect. You’ve got something just there,” he adds, suppressed smile finally breaking through. He taps a finger against his own forehead. 

Eggsy goes cross-eyed trying to see it. He scrubs his whole arm across his forehead, lifting his eyebrows at Harry as if to ask whether or not he’s gotten it. When Harry nods, he leans back in. “An’ why’s that?” he asks. 

Harry shrugs one shoulder. “Most of the time there isn’t much to do. The Queen is surprisingly busy.” 

Another small silence settles over the pair. It lasts until Eggsy puts on the finishing stroke, tension knotting his stomach as he starts to turn Harry towards the mirror.

But Harry puts his foot down before Eggsy can get him all the way around. “If it looks anything like it did last night then I’m sure the audience will be satisfied.” 

It should be a compliment, but Eggsy’s heart falls. The audience might be satisfied but Harry, it seems, is not. He’d almost rather Harry just come out and say it, but he leaves without another a word. 

Later that night Roxy tries to call him. He doesn’t pick up. 

Another mistake, as it turns out. She corners him the next evening in his supply closet as soon as the show lets out. 

His time with Harry had been just as disappointing as ever. What little conversation they’d managed to keep up had been stilted and awkward, and Harry had refused to look in the mirror again. He still insisted it was only because he had such faith in Eggsy’s skill, but Eggsy just couldn’t bring himself to believe it. 

He is just putting his things away when he hears movement from the doorway. He turns, half expecting to see Merlin with some complaint or another, but instead he finds himself facing a very irate Roxy. 

She’s still in her costume, voluminous skirts filling the doorframe and effectively blocking his way out. “You’re moping,” she says, accusation heavy in her tone. 

“I’m not mopin’,” Eggsy protests, looking for a way around her. “I’m just … mildly upset." 

Roxy folds her arms over her chest, leveling him with a look. She makes no move to get out of his way. 

Eggsy sighs. “Yeah, okay, maybe I’m mopin’ a  _ little _ , but it’s only ‘cause Harry doesn’t like my makeup job. I don’t think he even likes me,” he admits, voice quieter than before. 

Briefly, Roxy’s eyes soften with sympathy. “Well, that’s his problem, then, not yours. But I really don’t think that’s true, Eggsy. He’s never mentioned disliking you.” 

Eggsy’s head whips up. “He’s talked about me to you?” he asks, mouth hanging open a little. 

Roxy shrugs cavalierly. “A bit. I might have mentioned you once or twice.” 

Groaning, Eggsy gives up any hope of earning Harry’s approval. 

“Relax,” Roxy says with a good-natured smile. “Challenging as it might be, I haven’t said anything embarrassing about you. Yet,” she adds, smile turning into a playful smirk. She puts her hands up in surrender at the glare Eggsy turns on her. “And I won’t.  _ If you stop moping _ .” 

Eggsy gnaws at his bottom lip. “Fine,” he says after a bit. “I won’t sulk around anymore. Happy?” 

Roxy gives him a prim little smile, finally stepping back from the doorway and allowing him out. “Very.” On her way out she pauses, turning to look back at him over her shoulder. “Oh, by the way,” she says, “I invited your mother to our next performance.”  With that, she’s out, leaving Eggsy to wonder why she seemed so smug about that. 

-

“Roxanne tells me your mother is coming to see us tonight,” Harry says, this time only a few minutes into their routine. 

Eggsy nods, tip of his tongue poking from his mouth as he fixes on a particularly tricky patch of latex. “She is,” he mumbles, only half-listening. 

Harry waits until the tongue-tip has retreated before speaking again. “I suppose I’ll just have to perform extra well tonight, then.” 

Still mostly absorbed in what he’s doing, Eggsy just shrugs one shoulder. “She probably wouldn’t even notice if you missed half your notes,” he says. “She doesn’t really watch much besides soaps and daytime telly.” 

“All the more reason to make tonight better than usual. We don’t want her first taste of live theatre to be a bad one,” Harry says. 

Eggsy pauses, drawing back to look at him. “Yeah … I guess so. Break a leg.” He smiles a bit as he leans back in and Harry smiles too.

That night he watches them perform for the first time in front of an actual audience. He’s heard them before, of course, it’s nearly impossible to find a completely quiet spot backstage, and it’s not quite like it was in rehearsal either. 

Roxy is stunning as Christine and Charlie might be a complete prick, but even Eggsy has to admit he’s handsome. It only helps that his character is chivalrous to a fault. And yes, Eggsy may be biased, but he still thinks Harry steals the show every second he’s on stage. 

He’d never really understood what it was about the Phantom women supposedly found sexy, but goddamn. As soon as Harry steps out on stage it becomes abundantly clear. And that’s before he opens his mouth and starts singing. 

Eggsy watches the whole thing with rapt attention, barely noticing the hustle and bustle around him as stagehands desperately try and keep the production running smoothly. A twinge of pride shoots through him as the Phantom’s mask is ripped away and the audience gasps. Harry might not like Eggsy’s work, but it seems everyone else does. 

The curtain falls and the applause is thunderous. 

Eggsy retreats back to his room, waiting impatiently for Harry to come see him. Removing the makeup doesn’t take half as long as putting it on, and usually Eggsy is grateful for that, but this time he actually wants to talk to him. 

Eventually he does make his way there, makeup already a little smudged from the heat of the lights. Harry settles himself in the chair, eyes meeting Eggsy’s in the mirror. 

“So,” Eggsy says conversationally, starting to strip away the layers of makeup and latex. “Watched the show tonight. It was my first time actually seein’ it since the run started.” 

Harry hums, eyebrows lifting. “And? Do you think I lived up to your mother’s expectations?” 

Eggsy opens his mouth to reply but a young voice interrupts him before he can. 

“Eggsy!” A small form launches herself into the room, crashing into Eggsy’s legs, arms wrapping around his knees. 

“Oof.” Eggsy stumbles backward a step, but a smile is already spreading over his face. 

Harry turns in his chair to see what’s happened, eyes lighting on a young girl clinging to Eggsy and beaming up into his face. 

As he moves, she turns to look to at him, smile melting right off her face. She lets out a piercing shriek, racing towards the woman who’s appeared in the doorway. 

“Daisy, what-?” Michelle starts to ask as the toddler buries her face in Michelle’s thigh. 

“M-m-monster!” she wails, pointing back into the room. 

Harry flushes a deep red as Eggsy claps a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. He _ does  _ look pretty grotesque, with half his makeup smeared and in the process of being ripped off. Eggsy swallows his mirth when he catches twin glares from Harry and Michelle. “Sorry, bruv, you just … never mind,” he apologizes, eyes still glittering with amusement. 

He goes to where Daisy is still cowering behind Michelle, crouching to get on her level. He can hear a slight rustling behind him but he ignores it, holding a hand out to his sister. “Harry ain’t a monster,” he assures her. “It’s just makeup like mum wears, yeah? If you come out, I can put some on you too.” 

Hesitantly, Daisy edges out, small hand slipping into Eggsy’s. “Gonna make Daisy a monster too?” she asks quietly. 

Eggsy grins and straightens up. “Yeah, scarier than Harry.” 

She turns her free hand into a claw, putting it up near her face and baring her teeth. 

Eggsy mirrors her, growling right back. 

Nerves dissolve into giggles and Eggsy hoists her up to sit on the counter. He glances over at Harry only to find him busy scraping at the makeup himself. His face is mostly back to normal by then. 

Michelle finally steps into the room, clearing her throat. 

Eggsy turns to her, wrapping her up in a hug. “Hey, mum,” he says. The anxiety of the past few days seeps out of him as she hugs him back and for a moment he just allows himself to be held. Finally he pulls back. “Mum, this is Harry,” he says, gesturing to the man himself. “Harry, mum.” 

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Unwin,” Harry says, standing and holding out a hand. 

“Baker, actually,” she corrects with a tight smile, accepting his hand and shaking it once. “Would you be Harry Hart?” 

“The same,” Harry says, inclining his head. 

Michelle’s smile turns more genuine and she shoots Eggsy an excited look. “He the one you always used to go on about? Went through a phase, that one,” she beams, turning her attention back on Harry. “Always had somethin’ or other that you were in playin’ up on the telly.” 

“ _ Mum _ ,” Eggsy interrupts, cheeks flaming red. He can’t bring himself to look at Harry so instead he glares steadfastly at his mother. 

Michelle only shrugs, moving to lean against the counter and run her fingers through Daisy’s hair. 

Daisy tugs at Eggsy’s sleeve, the beginnings of a pout on her lips. “Eggsy, Eggsy! Wanna be a monster.”

Sighing, Eggsy gives Harry an apologetic look. “Sorry, I …” He trails off, gesturing at his family helplessly. 

Harry shakes his head, forestalling anything else. “It’s quite alright.” He gives him a surprisingly warm smile as he collects his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Eggsy.” 

“Yeah,” Eggsy says a bit dazedly. It takes another tug on his sleeve to drag his eyes away from the empty doorway. 

-

Things are decidedly less awkward the next day. Harry comes bearing a small bouquet of daisies, offering them out to Eggsy, who takes them with a genuine, but confused, smile. 

“For your sister,” Harry clarifies, seating himself. “As an apology for frightening her yesterday.” 

“Was as much my fault as yours, but I’ll pass them along,” Eggsy promises. He gets to work on him, eventually mustering up the courage to speak again. “Er, about what my mum said yesterday. About me, you know …” He trails off, half-hoping Harry will let him off the hook before he has to say it, but eh man just blinks at him innocently. “Uh … watchin’ your shows and all,” he says in a rush, eyes skittering off to a corner of the room. 

Finally Harry comes to his rescue, waving his concerns away airily. “Mothers tend to exaggerate things of that nature,” he says. “I’m well aware she may have been … embellishing.” He gives Eggsy another one of those warm smiles and suddenly the room feels a few degrees hotter. 

Eggsy fights down a blush, sweeping on some more foundation. “Yeah,” he says. “Embellishin’.” He moves to fetch another brush and his eye lands on the bouquet again. “So you got any sisters or anythin’?” 

Harry shakes his head. “It’s just me and Mr. Pickle, I’m afraid,” he says with a soft sigh. 

“Mr. Pickle,” Eggsy repeats, nose crinkling. 

“My dog,” Harry explains. 

Eggsy doesn’t uncrinkle his nose. “What kind of a name is Mr. Pickle?” he asks. 

Harry adopts a wounded expression, placing his hand over his heart. “I sense judgement.” 

Eggsy grins up at him, shaking his head. “Nah. Just think I’d get hungry every time I had to call for him, is all.” 

Harry spends the rest of the time telling him about all the trouble Mr. Pickle has dragged him into over the years and, for once, Eggsy actually regrets finishing. 

To is surprise, Harry even spends a few moments studying himself in the mirror. He reaches up, ghosting his fingers over the mangled side of his face. “I really do look like a monster,” he breathes, so quietly Eggsy doesn’t know if he was meant to hear it. 

He nudges Harry’s shoulder, smiling playfully. “If you didn’t, I wouldn’t be doin’ my job very well,” he teases. 

But Harry only hums softly in reply. 

-

The show is a hit. Its run is extended by almost a month and Eggsy thrills at the chance to learn even more about Harry. They don’t spend much time in silence anymore and he’s started to wonder how they ever did. 

When Harry isn’t busy telling him about the more amusing secrets of the palace’s inhabitants, Eggsy’s busy telling him about Daisy’s or JB’s latest escapades, both the little girl and the pug seeming to have an uncanny sense for finding trouble. Harry even manages to tease a little bit about Dean from Eggsy when he asks after his mother’s last name. He doesn’t say much, just that she remarried not long after his real dad died and Dean is Daisy’s father. Harry nods, but Eggsy can tell he’s not entirely fooled by the fake-happy tone he adopts when he talks about him. 

That suspicion is only confirmed when he catches Harry studying him intently whenever he thinks he’s not looking. He would be flattered if he weren’t so terrified of him actually seeing something, irrational as that might be. He hasn’t shared the same space as Dean for a year. Somehow he feels like Harry will be able to see right through into his past if he only looks hard enough. 

It’s about three weeks from the end of the run when he starts avoiding Harry whenever possible. He still makes conversation while he’s doing his makeup, but he takes care to steer clear of him whenever possible backstage. All he really has to do is hole up in his storage closet, popping out every so often to congratulate Roxy on another job well done. 

It could very well be the most miserable time of his life. He misses Harry far more than he thought he would, even if all he’s really missing is a few hurried conversations during scene transitions. Roxy eventually notices his downcast mood. She drags him out to the pub that night, securing a small booth in the back where they’re not likely to be bothered. 

“What’s going on?” Roxy asks as soon as they’ve settled in with their pints. 

Eggsy stares down into his glass, shrugging one shoulder. “What do you mean?” 

With a small huff of irritation, Roxy reaches out to punch him lightly in the shoulder. “I  _ mean _ both you and Harry have been drifting around like deflated balloons lately. So what’s going on?”

There’s really no point in trying to hide things from her, Eggsy decides, sighing heavily. “I dunno. He started askin’ about Dean and I just …” He falls silent, shrugging again and burying himself in his pint. 

Roxy’s eyes fill with sympathy. “Oh, Eggsy,” she says and he hates it. 

Hates the sound and the look of pity, hates that he’s acting like a coward, hates that he’s sitting here instead of doing something about it. He stands up abruptly, staring down at Roxy. “I’ll be right back.” And then he’s off, already pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

He taps in Merlin’s number before he can tell himself to stop, half hoping the Scot won’t pick up. But it seems fate isn’t looking to intervene. 

“Hello?” Merlin asks, sounding a bit distracted. 

Eggsy stands against the back wall of the pub, phone clutched to his ear, mouth open but saying nothing. 

“Hello?” Merlin repeats, and now he just sounds annoyed. 

“Uh … hi,” Eggsy finally manages to say. “Don’t hang up. It’s me. Eggsy.” 

Merlin sighs. It only sounds like a burst of static to Eggsy. “Eggsy. Is something wrong?” 

Eggsy really doesn’t know how to answer that so he chooses not to. “I need you to give me Harry’s number,” he says all in rush. 

There’s a beat of silence and then, “What do you need it for?” 

Which Eggsy supposes he really should have been expecting. “Forgot to tell him somethin’. It’s important.” 

Another static sigh and then Merlin is rattling off numbers so quickly that Eggsy almost misses it. 

“Thanks, Merlin, you’re the guvnor,” Eggsy says. He hangs up, fingers shaking as he keys in Harry’s number. 

He doesn’t pick up. Eggsy waits as it rings and rings and rings, nerves buzzing, until it clicks over to voicemail. Harry’s warm voice tells him to leave a message and he’ll call back as soon as possible. Then there’s a soft beep and Eggsy doesn’t have time to think, he just talks. 

“Hi, Harry. It’s Eggsy. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for avoidin’ you lately. I was just … fuck, I don’t even know. Dean was a right wanker and I don’t like talkin’ about him, I guess, but it weren’t fair of me to drop you like that. You didn’t know or anythin’. Anyway. It’s Eggsy. Shit, I already said that. I’m not drunk. Uh … bye, I guess.” 

Eggsy stares at the blank screen of his mobile, internally cursing himself. That had been a bloody mess and he’d be lucky if Harry even wants to talk to him after that. 

Sighing, he heads back into the pub, back to Roxy, and back to the pint he desperately wants to finish. 

-

Eggsy’s almost surprised when Harry shows up the next day, lingering in the doorway until Eggsy notices him. He pauses, tray of makeup in hand, halfway across the room. “You didn’t happen to accidentally delete all your voicemails last night, did you?” he asks weakly, trying and failing to force a smile. 

The look on Harry’s face makes it very clear that he hadn’t and Eggsy’s shoulders slump even further. He opens his mouth to apologize. Before he can get a word out, however, he finds himself caught up in a pair of strong arms and his brain short circuits. Without him telling them to, his arms circle around Harry and he buries his face in his chest. 

They stand like that for Eggsy doesn’t-even-know-how-long before Harry finally pulls back, staring intently into his eyes. “If you want to talk about him I’m here to listen,” he promises. “And if you don’t, I won’t bring him up again.” 

Eggsy is left looking up at him dumbly. Eventually he nods and Harry releases him. “Thank you,” he whispers as he takes his customary place in the chair, but it’s so quiet he doesn’t even know if Harry hears him. 

-

After he spills his guts about Dean and what he did and why he’d gotten so interested in makeup in the first place, Harry pulls him into another hug, tells him he’s sorry and it’s going to be okay and Eggsy thinks he might be a little bit (or a lot) in love with him. 

Which, naturally, throws another wrench into the works. He wants to blush every time he sees Harry and he finds himself stammering more often than not. Gentleman that he is, Harry doesn’t comment, though he’s certainly noticed. 

Finally Eggsy makes his mind up about what he’s going to to do. He’s going to tell Roxy everything and see if she has any advice. He hunts for her as the show is winding down, Harry’s makeup already taken care of and most of the crew packing things up for the night. After scouring half the theatre with no luck, he spots Gazelle and Charlie off to one side, deep in conversation with each other. 

Figuring they might know where she is, he sidles closer. Not wanting to interrupt them, he resolves to wait until they’re done talking. 

“She’s clearly in love with him,” Charlie says as the steps into earshot. 

Eggsy freezes. The ‘she’ has to be Roxy, but the ‘him’ can’t be …

Gazelle snorts. “You don’t know that.” 

Charlie folds his arms over his chest, lifting one eyebrow challengingly. “She’s with him all the time.” 

“She has to be,” Gazelle points out. “It’s her  _ job _ .” 

Charlie waves her protest away airily. “Just watch the way she looks at him. You’ll see what I mean.” 

They seem to notice Eggsy then, turning to face him with irritated looks. “What do you want?”

Eggsy takes an involuntary step backward. “Uh … nothin’, sorry,” he says weakly. Ignoring their scornful snorts, he turns and hurries out of the theatre as quickly as he can. 

Their conversation replays over and over in his head. He can’t get it out no matter how many times he tells himself it isn’t true. Roxy would have told him if she was in love with Harry. Wouldn’t she?

Doubt needles him enough that he barely talks to Harry when he’s putting on his face that night, the silence reminiscent of their first days together. He’s too caught up in his thoughts to say anything, even if he had any idea what to say. 

At the end of it, Harry places a hand on his shoulder. “Eggsy,” he says softly. “Are you all right?” 

Eggsy shrugs his hand off. “Yeah, bruv, I’m fine.” He can’t even convince himself. 

‘Just watch the way she looks at him,’ Charlie had said. So Eggsy does. He stands backstage, hands gripping the heavy fabric of the curtain, watching the entire rendition of Music of the Night. ‘They’re just acting,’ he tells himself as Roxy’s besotted eyes track Harry while he moves across the stage, but he has to admit that they might not be. 

Harry is charming and posh, and bloody hell, if he ever stared as intensely at Eggsy as he’s now staring at Roxy, he’d be more than a little gone on him. His heart plummets and he turns away miserably. 

At least there’s only one night left to the run. 

It’s when he’s carefully peeling latex off Harry that evening when he loses it. He’s being unreasonable, he knows, but he just can’t stop himself. 

“What’s your problem, anyways?” Eggsy snaps, stepping back and glaring down at him, hands on his hips. 

Startled, Harry meets his gaze, brow furrowing. “My problem?” he repeats. 

“Yeah.” Eggsy moves to cross his arms over his chest instead, suddenly on the defensive. “You ain’t liked my makeup job one bit this whole run and you just sat there and never said a word about it. What the hell?” 

Harry shifts in the chair, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Eggsy, I-” 

But he doesn’t give him the chance to finish, cutting in before he can make some shitty excuse or pull a compliment out of his arse just to get him to calm down. “Save it, Harry. At least you only have to deal with it for one more night, yeah?” He stomps out of the room, leaving Harry to deal with the rest of the makeup removal himself. 

The next night, closing night, he arrives early, per Roxy’s request. She’s already waiting for him when he gets there, perched in Harry’s chair and practically buzzing with excitement. 

“What’s this all about, Rox?” Eggsy asks, trying to sound more cheerful than he feels. He just wants this night to be over so he can go home and not have to think about Harry Hart ever again. 

Roxy hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. She’s quiet long enough that Eggsy turns to face her square on, eyebrows raised curiously. “I have something to tell you,” she blurts and Eggsy feels his heart sinking again, surprised it still has space left to fall. 

“What is it?” he asks hoarsely, thought he’s certain he already knows. 

Looking more unsure of herself than he’s ever seen her, Roxy picks at a fingernail. “I think I’m in love,” she finally admits, meeting his gaze nervously. “With-” 

“I know,” Eggsy cuts her off. He doesn’t think he can handle it, hearing it stated so plainly. 

Roxy blinks, completely taken aback. “You do?” she asks. 

Eggsy nods, trying to pretend the brilliant smile she’s turned on him doesn’t hurt. 

“I was going to tell him tonight, after curtain call,” she says. “Do you think that’s a good time for it? We’ve just had such a good run, I think he’d really appreciate it.” 

“When else?” Eggsy says faintly, half-heartedly shrugging. 

Roxy throws her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug, eyes shining. “Thanks for hearing me out,” she says, pulling back. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our last performance.” She’s halfway out the door when she turns back to face him, one hand planted firmly on her hip. “And you should really tell Harry how you feel, you know. He’s going to be gone soon.” 

Eggsy shrugs limply once more, then what she said fully registers and his head whips up. “What-” he starts, but she’s already gone. He doesn’t think, just darts out after her, nearly slamming into her as he rounds the corner. “Roxy, wait,” he says, hand shooting out to grab her wrist. 

She looks back at him in confusion. 

“You - I thought -  _ me _ and Harry?” he stammers. 

Roxy gently breaks herself free of his grip, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t read this wrong, have I?” For the first time her face is shrouded in doubt. “You do love him, don’t you?” 

“Well, yeah, but I … weren’t you goin’ to tell him you loved him? Tonight after curtain call?” Eggsy asks, barely even noticing the confession that rolls off his tongue. 

“ _ Harry _ ?” Roxy gapes. 

Eggsy can only nod. 

“I’m not in love with Harry, you sod,” she says, clearly trying to hold back laughter. 

For a moment Eggsy can only stand there dumbly. None of this is adding up. “Then who  _ are _ you in love with?” 

Roxy colors scarlet, glancing around conspiratorially. Once she’s sure nobody is within earshot she leans in, Eggsy automatically doing the same. “Merlin. I thought you said you knew?” 

Everything clicks into place. Merlin. Gazelle and Charlie had been talking about their stage manager. He drops his face into his hands. “I’m a bloody idiot, Rox.” 

“What did you do?” she asks, concern clouding her brow. 

“I thought you were gonna be with Harry and he’d be leavin’ soon anyways and he’s always had this weird look whenever I did him up as the Phantom. So I sort of, kind of blew up at him yesterday,” Eggsy admits, looking a touch sheepish. 

Roxy groans, rubbing her forehead. “All right,” she says after a long moment of thought. “I think we can fix this.” 

Instantly, Eggsy perks up. “We can? How?” 

“Simple. You’re going to stop being an idiot and tell him how you feel,” Roxy says. 

Eggsy grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “All right, but  _ hypothetically _ , if I was kinda a dick-”    


Roxy mashes a finger against his lips, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Then you are going to undick yourself and make it up to him,” she tells him. 

Lips still commandeered by her finger, Eggsy can only nod. 

“Good,” she says, dropping her hand. “Now I will see you after the curtain falls.” She strides off, shoulders squared, and looking far more confident than Eggsy feels. 

He slinks back to his little corner, staring mournfully at the chair. 

He’s still in the same position when Harry arrives fifteen minutes later. Eggsy doesn’t even notice when he approaches, too wrapped up in thoughts about how he’s gone and buggered this all to hell. 

Harry clears his throat politely. 

That catches Eggsy’s attention and he looks over to him with a start. “Christ, Harry, I’m so-” 

Harry’s hand flies up; the finger pressed against his lips this time is more gentle than Roxy’s. “I’m the one who needs to apologize,” he says quietly. “You were right. You spent so much time making me look like the Phantom and all I did was insult you. The truth is …” He stops, swallows, lets out a long breath through his nose. “The truth is I didn’t like the way I looked because I looked the way I was supposed to.” 

Eggsy’s face screws up in confusion. “Um,” he mumbles around Harry’s finger. 

Harry sighs heavily, dropping his hand. He picks it back up and runs it through his hair, fidgeting nervously. “The Phantom is supposed to be this hideous creature and you did your job well,” he says, unable to meet Eggsy’s eyes. 

A short laugh escapes before Eggsy can reel it back in and Harry’s eyes slide over to look at him. “You didn’t like your makeup ‘cause it made you look  _ ugly _ ? Do I have that right?” Eggsy asks when he’s regained some of his composure.

Harry drops into the seat, scowling. “You’re too good at your job, Eggsy.” 

Eggsy bends down in front of him, starting to paint him up. “I’m sorry too, you know,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said all that shit to you.” 

Harry shrugs it off. “You don’t need to apologize to a vain old man,” he sighs. 

“You left out handsome,” Eggsy says with a wink, heart thudding in his ears. But when he meets Harry’s gaze he thinks there’s something more than just amusement in his eyes. 

-

Eggsy peers at his reflection, narrowing his eyes critically. He can hear the notes for the final song starting, the grand finale where the Phantom is finally revealed, the epic standoff between him and Raoul. He tilts his chin this way and that, checking himself from every possible angle before nodding in satisfaction. Perfect. 

Now all he has to do is wait. Time seems to crawl by, anticipation making Eggsy itch. He keeps his hands firmly in his lap and away from his face, not wanting to mess up his careful work. It takes ages but eventually he hears the audience clapping wildly, can picture the cast bowing in his mind’s eye, the curtain falling to cover them. 

Then time seems to slam into overdrive to compensate. It seems like seconds later when he hears familiar footsteps headed his way. He stands up, trying to look casual as he leans against the desk, but he’s too keyed up to really pull it off. 

Harry arrives, already itching at some flaking latex. “I’m hoping I’ll never have to deal with-  _ Good Lord _ , what have you done to your face?” He comes to an abrupt halt, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Eggsy. 

Eggsy can’t help it. His face splits wide open in a large grin. “Like it?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting challengingly. 

“You look,” Harry says, stepping forwards and taking his chin in his hand to study him better, “absolutely appalling.” 

Eggsy twines his arms around Harry’s neck, fingers combing through the short, soft hairs at his nape. “We match,” he says quietly, suddenly very, very aware of their proximity. 

Harry’s thumb traces over his cheek, running over the smooth ridge of latex he himself has grown so accustomed to over the course of the musical. He’s done just as good a job of turning himself into the Phantom as he’s done for Harry, that’s certain. 

 

“You know, I thought you and Roxy were in love,” Eggsy says casually. 

Harry arches one eyebrow. “You did?” he asks, the question shot through with skepticism. 

Eggsy flushes and he slaps one hand weakly against his chest. “Shut up. Heard Charlie and Gazelle sayin’ somethin’ about how Rox was in love with one of her co-workers, and then I watched you two again and I thought ... You’re a very convincin’ actor,” he says, but it sounds more like an accusation. 

Harry’s eyes suddenly darken and he takes hold of Eggsy’s chin, thumb tracing lightly over his bottom lip. “Does that mean you won’t believe me when I say I love you, Eggsy?” 

A shudder runs through him from the way Harry’s looking at him but he manages a challenging smirk. “Might. Might not. Guess you’ll have to find out.” 

Harry cups Eggsy’s face in his, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “I love you.” His thumb runs along his lip again almost unconsciously. 

“The thing is,” Eggsy says, practically molding himself to Harry, “actions speak louder than words, yeah? An’ I don’t think I was fully convinced.”

So Harry slips an arm around his waist, tilting his chin upwards with a light laugh. “I love you, Eggsy Unwin.” And, personally, Eggsy thinks the kiss he gives him after that is very, very convincing.  


End file.
